


Behind Blue Eyes

by orphan_account



Category: That Guy with the Glasses/Channel Awesome
Genre: Body Horror, F/M, M/M, Mad Science, TGWTG Big House AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 09:31:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he went to bed, his eyes were blue. When he woke up, his eyes were green.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind Blue Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Dark Month.

When he went to bed, his eyes were blue. When he woke up, his eyes were green. 

He didn't realize it at first - everything felt normal. He kissed the top of Insano's head, admiring the dark hair a'scattered across the white pillow in the absent minded way of the newly awoken. He yawned and stretched, ambling vaguely into the bathroom, the floor cold under the soles of his feet. 

He didn't realize the problem as he took a piss, and he realized something was off as he was brushing his teeth. He put it down to basic early morning zombification. It wasn't until he was shaving, staring blankly into his own face, that he realized what, exactly, was off. 

The eyes staring out of his face weren't his. They weren't the familiar watery blue - these were the green of the sun behind a leaf.

Something in his gut twitched, and he blinked, hard, leaning in closer. But no, the color stayed the same. Deep, dark green.

"Insano!" He hated the way his voice cracked, hated the terror in the back of his throat, because this seemed like a very silly thing to be afraid of. After all, his eyes were still working, weren't they? 

There was a muffled thud, and then the flapping of a pair of feet on the floor.

"What the fuck are you shouting about at this time of morning?" Insano rubbed his goggle-less eyes, staring accusingly. There were dark circles under his eyes. 

"Insano, there is something wrong with my eyes." He was careful to keep his voice very calm and very flat. 

Insano's brow furrowed and he stepped closer, peering into his boyfriend's face. "I don't see anything," he said, his nasal voice mildly confused and holding a tiny bit of what might be compassion, if you squinted and tilted your head.

"My eyes. They changed color." Insano's boyfriend pointed to them, his fingers shaking. He realized, somewhat belatedly, that his face was still covered in shaving cream.

"What are you talking about?" Insano stretched and yawned, arching his back. His shirt rode up over his pajama pants, revealing a few lovely inches of pale white skin and dark, wiry hair. "Your eyes have always been green."

"No, they haven't been! They're blue!" He brushed past Insano, went to dig through his jeans to find his wallet. "See? It says so on my driver's license." He squinted at it, then frowned. "Wait. No. That can't be right." 

There was a little "g" on the card, and the picture was his. With green eyes. It was an old picture, from six months ago. Maybe it had been photoshopped? But why would someone do that? 

He forced himself to laugh, because he couldn't think of anything else to do, and he smiled sickly at Insano. "You're right," he said. "I don't know what came over me. The freak out, I mean."

Insano yawned, then stood on tiptoe to kiss his boyfriend, and went back to bed. He never was one for early mornings.

The rest of the day went by uneventfully, apart from the occasional shiver when he caught a sight of the unfamiliar green. And then he went to sleep, and he slept the sleep of the unrestless dead.

He woke up with long hair. Significantly longer. It had barely brushed his chin when he had gone to bed. Now it was pattering against his ass. And once again, the wrongness of it clawed down his throat to settle in his stomach like a rat. He didn't scream this time, just stood in the bathroom, fiddling with the drawers, trying to find the scissors.

"What are you doing?" Insano's voice was panicked, and he stumbled over, snatching the scissors out of his boyfriend's hands. 

"This... this is new," said his boyfriend, staring into the deep green eyes in the mirror. 

"No, it's not," said Insano, his voice still mildly hysterical. He tangled his fingers through the long brown strands. "And you promised me you wouldn't cut it!" 

He blinked down at Insano, trying to sort everything out. Because his eyes were the wrong color, except Insano didn't seem to think so, and he didn't want to talk about it, he just wanted it all to go away. He wanted to go back to his normal self, with short hair and blue eyes. So he didn't put up a fuss - he kissed his boyfriend and went to work, even as his skin shivered under his clothes every time the - his? - hair touched his back.

Everyone he ran into recognized him, didn't comment on the new hair. He kept sitting on it, getting it in his face and in his food. A headache was chewing at the top of his skull all day, and he was grateful when he went to bed, Insano's familiar long body tucked into his own.

The next morning, his eyes were still green (he knew it without looking, because it felt... wrong) and his hair was still too long, but nothing else about his body felt different. He breathed a sigh of relief, because maybe whatever it was was done. Or maybe he'd had green eyes and long hair all along, and he'd just imagined it otherwise, for some reason. Then he leaned over to kiss Insano good morning. 

He recoiled so hard that he fell off of the bed, his too long hair catching on the nightstand drawer. There was a stranger in the bed. A woman, with Insano's hair, Insano's face, Insano's pajamas. He nearly screamed, scrambling backwards, knocking over the lamp, and then his hair got yanked as he moved his head in the wrong way, and he bellowed in pain. 

The woman woke up with a jerk, sitting up and looking disgruntled. "What the fuck was THAT?" Her voice was just like Insano's, just at a slightly higher pitch. 

He shivered convulsively. 

She reached a hand out to him, and he scrabbled backwards like a crab. 

"Who are you?" He hated how his voice shook. "Where's Insano?"

"What are you talking about? I'm Insano!" She crossed her arms, and he noticed her small breasts. He wished he hadn't noticed. 

"Insano's a guy," he said, and he squinted, trying to think. Insano was a guy, right? Yes, he was pretty sure. Looking at this person who was supposed to be Insano felt a bit like catching sight of those green eyes in the mirror, or feeling the pitter-pat of the long hair on his back. But was he sure that he was right? That this wasn't Insano? The real Insano?

He pressed his face into his hands, and he sobbed, feeling the terror and the wrongness flood over him like a wave of filthy water. 

The arms that wrapped around him felt familiar, even if the soft chest he rested his face on was foreign, almost repulsive in its alien familiarity. It smelled like Insano, down to the acidic afterscent of his body odor. And the voice was practically Insano's, if Insano had a smaller set of vocal chords. He felt something small and delicate in the back of his mind crack, although he didn't know what it was. 

And so it went. Day after day, morning after morning. His skin changed color, his hands grew larger, his legs longer. Galaxies of freckles sprouted overnight across his chest like wildflowers. His body began to ache more often - his knuckles swelling up, his feet sore. Insano was always there to help, giving him foot rubs, holding his hand. He was beginning to forget what his original self looked like. He didn't remember what it felt like to have a body that felt like his own. 

Insano stayed - after the initial, terrifying change, Insano stayed exactly the same, and he was beginning to forget a time when she was a man. Every morning, before he opened his eyes, he would clutch her to him, to make sure that she was still here. She was his constant. 

Everything was wrong, strange, alien, uncomfortable. Everyone saw his irritability, the way he was so ill at ease with himself. They didn't see the changes in his body - they just saw the way he tripped over too long legs, caught his too big hands on things, got his too long hair caught in things. 

And then, one night, he woke up. He didn't know why - he usually slept through the night. Since the changes had started, he had entertained the idea of staying awake all night, to figure it out, but Insano always promised that she'd stay up to help him, and indeed, she had gone without sleep for three nights in a row before she gave up, snuggling down with him. 

As always when he woke up, he reached out for Insano. But she wasn't there - she was standing over him, and she was holding... something. He sat up groggily, and he tried to open his mouth to say something. 

That was when he felt the pain of his mouth - his hands flew up, and he felt thick string, _sewing his lips shut_. 

It really is amazing how loud a person can scream without being able to open their mouth. 

Insano was just standing there, looking annoyed. "Oh, do stop fussing," she said sharply. "I have to sew your mouth shut, or else you'd wake everyone up with your screaming, including yourself." She reached out and cupped his cheek in a gesture of tenderness that felt like a parody. "We wouldn't like that, would we, dear?" She let go of his cheek, and he saw her bend down, fiddling with a box on the floor.

He narrowed his eyes, concentrating hard. "What did you do to me while I was sleeping?" It was barely recognizable as sound, let alone as words, but Insano seemed to understand it.

"What I did while you were sleeping-" She pushed the box further under the bed and chuckled, staring back at the curious green eyes with barely hidden wonder. "Love, you couldn't handle knowing that."

She was climbing onto the bed now, grabbing him by the shoulders, and she kissed him. Her tongue rasped across the stitches holding his lips together, and then her teeth caught one of them and pulled. The pain was sharp enough that he saw the world wobble around him for a moment, and then it kept swirling, the furniture and the walls melting like sugar under a waterfall. 

He closed his eyes, his stomach roiling.

He opened his eyes. 

He was staring up into a bright light, and there were sharp things imbedded in his head, and he could feel the cold metal of them on his skin, and _in_ his skin, in his skull. He could see Insano as well - his Insano, male and cranky looking. He felt something like joy flood his chest, completely incongruous with the stabbing pain in his head. 

And then Insano reached down and hooked a gloved finger through the stitches holding the man on the table's mouth shut, and the pain of it was overwhelming, joining the throbbing pain in his head, the shooting ache at the stumps where his hands and feet used to be, the searing agony every time a breath of air puffed over his skinless skull. He closed his eyes, and the pain washed over him like a river.

He woke up, and she was cuddled up to his chest. His head hurt for some strange reason, and when he opened his eyes, he knew that something was wrong. He just didn't know what.


End file.
